Your Guardian Angel
by FredLives90
Summary: It is Draco Malfoy's sixth year at Hogwarts, but what might have happened if Voldemort had had a different assignment in mind for him? One that forced him to face some feelings that he never even knew existed. HBP, Draco/Hermione, angst, drama, and romance.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. J.K. Rowling does.**

**This is the first of hopefully many chapters. Please rate and review! :)**

Bright flames danced and crackled in the large fireplace at Malfoy Manner, flooding the huge drawing room with a flickering light. Sitting in his favorite leather armchair in front of the hearth, Draco Malfoy was staring into them, completely lost in thought. Tonight was the night that the Dark Lord would come and personally inform Draco of his secret assignment. The flames illuminated his pale skin, making him stand out like a ghost in the darkness.

A chorus of chimes suddenly rang out into the silence as the antique grandfather clock against the nearest wall struck eleven, jarring Draco from his entrancement. He looked around him to see his mother, her platinum blonde hair glowing in the firelight, making her way briskly to his chair.

"He will be here any minute Draco dear," she said softly. There was a hint of anxiety in her voice that Draco found irritating. Why was she so hesitant to let him follow in his father's footsteps? He had wanted to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord and to his family ever since he learned of his return over a year ago. But his mother had always been insistent on keeping him either at school or at home, sheltered from the action like some helpless infant. This time, however, the Dark Lord had insisted on bestowing this secret task onto Draco, and there was nothing she could do about it. Draco was thrilled for the chance to prove his worth and redeem the Malfoy name, tarnished by that fiasco at the Ministry a couple months earlier which had landed his father a cell in Azkaban.

Narcissa Malfoy put her arms around her son and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, but Draco pulled away.

"I'm not a child, Mother," he growled, standing up from his armchair and straightening his robes. "I don't need your coddling and worrying over me anymore. The Dark Lord has a job for me to do, and I _will_ do it. I _will_ avenge Father and put us back in his favor, mark my words."

Draco's mother clutched the back of the chair and bit her lip, her eyes glistening with hurt tears.

"Really Cissy, you must compose yourself," the dark figure of Bellatrix Lestrange glided out of the darkness and lightly gripped her nephew's shoulder with a slender, black-nailed hand. "Draco has been given a grand opportunity that any Death Eater would trade their wand hand for. Be proud! Your son will no doubt be performing a great service for the Dark Lord." She spoke his name almost reverently. "And Draco is right. All of Lucius's mistakes will be forgiven if he succeeds at the Dark Lord's task."

At this Narcissa rounded on her sister with fire in her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my husband that way!" she hissed. "Lucius has demonstrated nothing but loyalty to the Dark Lord since his return. And he is no more to blame than any of the rest of you for your defeat at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix."

The corners of Bellatrix's mouth turned up in a crooked smile, exposing a few of her slowly yellowing teeth. The light from the fire intensified the contrast between her pale face and heavily lidded eyes and dark, twisted locks of hair. She looked almost vampiric.

"Don't be angry with me Cissy," she simpered in a falsely sweet voice that made Draco's skin crawl. "I'm on your side. I hate to see dishonor brought to my dear sister. But have faith in your son," she tightened her grip on Draco's shoulder. "Let him prove his worth to the Dark Lord, and everything will be set right again."

The two sisters exchanged one last look, the dark, haughty eyes of Bellatrix boring into Narcissa's pale blue ones, once again reflecting the overwhelming fear for her son she felt inside. At that moment the sound of a lofty musical score, as if played from a grand pipe organ, reverberated through the entire house, signaling that some witch or wizard had just breeched the front gates.

Bellatrix rushed to the entrance door, leaving the mother and son standing motionless like two specters in the dancing firelight. Excitement was coursing through Draco like he had never known before, and he felt his pounding heart rate steadily increase as his aunt opened the door and stepped aside to admit the cloaked figure of Lord Voldemort into their drawing room.

He walked swiftly through the large room with an air of such grace that it was hard to tell if his feet were even touching the floor and made his way directly to Draco and his mother with Bellatrix groveling in his wake, practically drooling in admiration. His snake-like eyes locked with Draco's and the corners of his mouth curled into an evil smile.

"Good evening Draco, Narcissa," he addressed them in a cold, high-pitched voice, nodding slowly to each in turn. "Thank you for welcoming me into your home." Narcissa stiffened but managed a weak smile in return. Draco remained fixed to the floor. His fervor had been mounting to the point he thought he might burst, but now, with the darkest and most dangerous wizard the world had ever known standing mere feet from him, he felt only fear and intimidation. Bellatrix was the one who spoke next.

"It is truly an honor to have your presence among us my Lord. I know that my sister and I would—"

"I came here for a specific reason," Lord Voldemort interrupted, causing Bellatrix to fall at once into a reverent silence. "Draco, my boy," his eyes bored into Draco's once again. "I have a very important assignment for you."

At once, Draco's excitement began to return, bubbling in his chest. His mouth tightened and became a proud smirk as his father's master continued.

"My return to power has not gone at all as I had hoped. The recent incident at the ministry was particularly embarrassing for me. It caused me to doubt the abilities of several of my most trusted and highly regarded Death Eaters. This saddens me, Draco, for your father was among those whom I counted on the most." A heavy silence befell the room. Voldemort allowed a slow glance toward the stony form of Narcissa and the raptly attentive face of Bellatrix before shifting his gaze back to Draco.

"But I will not continue to hold a grudge against your father's mistakes forever. I see lots of promise in you, Draco, and I am willing to leave everything in the past if you can succeed where he could not."

Another tense silence settled in around them. Lord Voldemort continued to stare at Draco, and an expression of hunger befell his snake-like face.

"Give me your arm, my son."

Draco's breath hitched, and his eyes widened in wonder and amazement. He had definitely not been expecting this. Huddled close together at his side, his mother and aunt wore similar expressions of shock on their pale faces. Draco hesitated for a moment then stepped slowly forward, rolling up the right sleeve of his robes with shaking fingers and exposing a thin, stark-white forearm.

Voldemort took the wrist that was extended to him in one of his waxen, spidery hands, and with the other, he held his wand aloft and pointed down at the bare skin. His face transformed into a malicious sneer as he began to hiss and spit under his breath.

Without warning Draco's forearm seared in pain as though someone had branded him with a red-hot iron. A blood-curling scream escaped his lips and echoed throughout the manner. He tried in vain to rip his arm free, but Voldemort's vice-like grip remained firm. Looking down at his burning arm, Draco beheld his once white skin now blackened, twisting and contorting in a shapeless mass. After a few seconds that felt a lifetime, the pain subsided, leaving behind a dull throbbing, and he could make out the etching of a black skull amidst the once-again translucent skin. Entranced, he continued to watch as the mouth of the skull opened and out protruded the inky black form of a snake, slithering and coiling all the way down to his bony wrist.

Draco was shaking and covered in cold sweat. He looked up at Voldemort's face, fixed back into its cruel smile as his arm was finally realeased from its long-fingered trap. There was already a bruise welling up there where that cold hand had been. He could hear his mother softly whimpering somewhere in the shadows and his aunt's hushed admonishments to silence her.

"Now, Draco," Voldemort began, his voice icy, "you belong to me."

Narcissa's body shuddered as one more silent sob escaped her. Her sister abandoned her side to stand closer to her master, her eyes wild with excitement.

"What I ask of you is very simple," he continued in a slow hiss, "your dear aunt Bellatrix has told me all about the meddlesome young witches and wizards who accompanied Potter to the ministry." At this, Bellatrix's mouth broke into a wide, manic smile. "We must make an example of them. So that everyone will know what happens to those who dare defy me." Voldemort paused, a murderous light in his eyes. "You mentioned, did you not, Bellatrix, that one of Potter's companions was a mudblood?"

"Yes, my master!" Bellatrix looked inflated with an air of self-importance as though nobody else could have provided that information. "The mudblood is Granger; Hermione Granger. Disgusting little bitch, she is. Looks like—"

"Yes… Miss Granger," Voldemort went on, speaking only to Draco. Then he added in a hiss so low it was almost a whisper, "I want you to kill her Draco."

Draco stood there, stunned and staring up at his new master with his heart pounding in his throat. So it was murder… the Dark Lord wanted him to commit murder. He had thought that might be it, and had even tried to mentally prepare his self for that possibility…. But he never thought it would be one of his classmates… in his own year… whom he regularly interacted with. It was true he had always been an enemy of Granger's, had always gone out of his way to make life difficult for her…. But he had never considered actually doing serious harm to the girl, and now he was supposed to _murder_ her….

The silence in the room was punctuated only by the manic cackling of Bellatrix and the steady crackling and popping of the fire. Draco and his mother were both lost for words, their faces blank and emotionless.

"Do not disappoint me Draco," the Dark Lord's voice was low and dangerous. "By the end of this term at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger must die."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry this chapter is a little short, but it is ridiculously late, and I need to sleep! I promise the next one will be longer. Please rate and review **

It never ceased to amuse Hermione what a strange assortment of people crowded the platforms of King's Cross Station every first of September. Stuffy-looking men and women dressed in business attire peered confusedly over their newspapers and coffee cups at gaggles of excited children and adults hurrying along in some of the strangest outfits imaginable. Little boys and girls could be seen in anything from swimming costumes and football uniforms to footsy pajamas and raincoats. Their parents were, if anything, even more absurd looking. They wore such peculiar articles as track suites, golf sweaters, cow-hide vests, and kilts. There was even one woman in a full wedding dress, complete with veil and train, and a man with an inflatable horse inner tube around his waist. If their manner of dress were not bizarre enough, all of these families, and even some wearing decently normal clothes, pushed trolleys loaded with luggage that was quite odd indeed. There were heavy trunks piled upon heavier trunks, as if these people were about to embark on very long voyages, and here and there were items that one would hardly expect any traveler to find necessary to bring along with them. Here was a cauldron, there was a brass telescope, a pile of what appeared to be long robes was draped over one girl's trunk, and several teenagers carried highly polished brooms over their shoulders. Most of the parties had also brought some sort of animal. Dozens of owls and cats of all shapes, colors, and sizes rested in cages perched atop the luggage, although some of the girls preferred to cradle their cat in their arms, leaving a parent to struggle with the heavily stacked trolley. A couple of large toads could even be seen clamped in some children's hands.

Hermione shook her head and chuckled to herself, quietly observing the chaotic scene around her and knowing full well how utterly ridiculous it seemed to these muggle bystanders. She walked behind her two best friends Harry and Ron, who had just seen Luna Lovegood and were now having an animated discussion about whether she or Cho Chang was prettier ("I'm telling you mate, if she would just loose those stupid radish earrings…"). Fred and George marched along behind her, sporting a pair of dapper new suites with silk ties and dragon-skin blazers. They were joking and laughing merrily at the expense of some of the more elaborate attempts at muggle dress. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley brought up the rear. Compared to the flamboyant garments that surrounded him, Mr. Weasley looked almost normal in his chosen outfit of a Christmas sweater, a pair of tweed trousers, bedroom slippers, and a couple of mismatched socks. Ginny Weasley was walking beside Hermione and had been listening intently to Harry and Ron's conversation.

"Can you believe those two?" she whispered to Hermione in a disapproving tone that made her voice sound remarkably like her mother's.

"Oh, you know boys," Hermione replied waving her hand dismissively, "all they care about is Quidditch and which girls became more attractive over the summer."

Ginny sighed and looked around at their classmates and their families as the Weasley party pulled up to the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten and tried to look inconspicuous.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she said without looking at Hermione.

Hermione knew what Ginny was referring to. They weren't talking about boys anymore. The atmosphere at King's Cross Station was not nearly as cheerful as it usually was on Departure Day. For one thing, there were noticeably fewer wizarding families to be seen, and those who were there were making their way briskly to the platform without so much as a "hello" to anyone else. The proud smiles of the parents had been replaced by anxious and worried looks, and they kept checking over their shoulders as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. It had been that way everywhere in the wizarding world all summer, ever since the ministry was finally forced to admit that He Who Must Not Be Named was at large once again.

"I know," she replied. "I keep thinking back to First Year. Everything was so new and exciting then. Everyone was so happy…. And now…"

"Now people are so bloody terrified, they've become paranoid that You Know Who's going to jump from behind every corner," Ginny finished her sentence for her.

"Yes, and that's exactly what he wants. He wants to keep people in the dark, living in fear and confusion. Our fear is what gives him power."

"I hate him! I hate all of them! You Know Who and those damned Death Eaters take everything that's good in the world and ruin it!"

"Shh!" Hermione cautioned. This was not the place to be attracting too much attention (more than anyone else anyway). "I know, I know. I hate them too," She spoke softly. "But the best thing we can do to fight them right now is not to let them destroy our spirits. We must have hope. Hope in Dumbledore. Hope in the Order. Hope in Harry…" Ginny began to smile at the mention of Harry's name. "As long as our hope is intact, they haven't won."

"But what if something else happens like at the Ministry? What if the Death Eaters come for us?" Ginny's voice was steady, but Hermione could see worry etched in her features.

"Any Death Eater who witnessed your reductor curse last spring is going to think twice about coming after you again, Ginny."

Ginny's smile became wider. "Since when did you become the motivational speaker?" she chuckled softly.

Hermione laughed and then replied, "I must be spending too much time around Harry."

"Come on girls get a move on! Everyone else has already gone through!" Mrs. Weasley was shooing them toward the solid barrier, urging them on before any muggles caught notice.

With one last smile to each other, the two girls grabbed hands and then rushed headlong at the barrier with their trolleys, passing through together to the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

The dense sea of nervous looking students and families parted to allow the passage of a certain pale, blonde Slytherin, wearing a new and expensive looking black suit tailored to fit him perfectly. Draco Malfoy was getting used to this kind of treatment. Now that the entire wizarding world knew of his father's dark allegiance, they regarded him with fear. They assumed him to soon join his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters, doing the bidding of He Who Must Not Be Named. Draco smirked to himself. Little did they know that their fears and presumptions had already been realized, that the Slytherin prefect was already an official Death Eater in full service to the Dark Lord. A tingle shot up through his right forearm at the thought, and he reflexively tugged at his sleeve to cover more of his wrist.

The first of September had come much more quickly this year than Draco could ever remember. It was time for him to return to Hogwarts and carry out his dark mission. Not a day had gone by since the Dark Lord's visit that he did not ponder how he would ever manage it, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not envision himself murdering on the Granger girl. The thought always left him feeling sick and strangely empty inside, at which time he would generally take to sulking in his room for hours at a time. His mother was a nervous wreck. She had been in such a state of hysterics that morning that she could not even accompany him to the station, so his aunt Bellatrix was with him instead, disguised as his mother with the aid of polyjuice potion. She had been maddeningly enthusiastic about Draco's assignment for the past few weeks, and had become quite fond of giving him advice on how to get Granger alone and unprotected. She also had made him practice the _Avada Kedavra_ over and over again on rats and any other small animal she could find until he was completely proficient at it.

Draco tried to clear his head and just concentrate on behaving the way the son of a dangerous Death Eater would be expected to. He gladly bade goodbye to his mother-imposter and made his way to the entrance of the nearest car through the clouds of steam billowing from the scarlet engine, an arrogant strut in his step and his facial features fixed firmly into the Malfoy mask. Once on the train, he received more of the same treatment that he had encountered outside. Younger students hurried out of the corridor into their compartments, only to press their timid faces against the window and stare as he walked briskly by. The older students he passed, if they were Slytherins, acknowledged him with a head nod or a smirk. If they were from the other houses, they met his silver gaze with either apprehension or stony expressions, their jaws rigidly set and their fists clenched at their sides. Still, there were a few first years who looked on confusedly, wondering why this thin, platinum-haired teenager was eliciting such reactions. They would learn soon enough, Draco thought humorlessly as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

He continued his march down the corridor of the train until he reached the very last compartment which was already occupied by his fellow Slytherins Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed as he stepped through the sliding door. His face was immediately smothered in fruity-scented black hair as she dashed forward and trapped him in a tight embrace.

"Bloody hell woman!" Draco protested, "Can I at least put my trunk down before you maul me?"

She was unabashed as Draco pushed her off of him, giggling as she let herself fall gracefully back into her seat. The others snickered as Draco stowed his trunk into the overhead compartment and then slid into the empty seat next to Blaise.

"So how was summer with mummy Draco?" his dark-skinned friend scoffed, knowing from Draco's loud and frequent complaints over the years just how overbearing the woman could be.

"Hmpf, how do you think, Zabini? With Father gone, the bloody old bat wouldn't give me moment's piece, always following me around trying to mollycoddle me in one way or another. I expect she's curled up with one of my old socks weeping her eyes out right now."

Blaise laughed and shook his head while Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly on the other bench. Pansy rolled her heavily shadowed eyes with a coy smile playing on her dark lips.

At that moment the lunch trolley passed by, and the five of them loaded up on as many sweets as they could fit into their greedy arms, nearly depleting the old witches stock. They spent almost an hour happily munching on chocolate frogs, licorice wands, pumpkin pasties, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (Crabbe choked on a dung-flavored bean, much to the delight of his fellow Slytherins). Their conversations drifted among several topics that they found amusing. They compared O.W.L. scores, during which Pansy insisted that the female administrator for Transfiguration had deducted points only because she was jealous of her "elegant curvature," and they all tried to figure out if Crabbe and Goyle had scraped enough points to officially be considered sixth years. They then proceeded to entertain themselves by voicing some of their suspected teacher relationships ("have you _seen_ the way Flitwick looks at McGonagall?"), reliving some of Ron Weasley's more deplorable quidditch performances (several verses of "Weasley Is Our King" followed this), and delivering more abuse to Draco's over-protective mother.

Draco was enjoying himself so much that, for a while, he forgot all about the Dark Lord and his sinister mission. This reverie was cut short, however, with a sharp rapping on the glass door to their compartment. He whipped his head around and felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach at the sight of a very familiar face, the face of a brunette girl in Gryffindor robes glaring daggers at him and gesturing impatiently.

"What are _you_ doing here, Mudblood!" Pansy shrieked, her face skrewed up in disgust.

"_I_ should be the one asking _you_ that, Parkinson." Hermione retorted, wrenching open the sliding glass door and crossing her arms over her chest. She kept her voice even, speaking sternly but not shouting, "Did you two forget that we have prefect duties? We have to patrol the corridors."

Pansy let out a loud mock groan, "Oh no no no! Draco, we've neglected our prefect duties!" she simpered sardonically.

Everyone else in the compartment laughed, except Draco. He could not take his eyes away from Granger. It felt as though he were seeing her for the first time. Her hair, once a bushy mess surrounding her head, was sleek and shiny, falling over her shoulders in elegant curls. Her skin was white and smooth. She had full, pink lips, and her eyes… Draco had never seen eyes so beautiful… so full of passion. What was wrong with him? This was Hermione Granger, the _muggle-born_, in front of him. And he was _Draco Bleeding Malfoy_, pureblood Death Eater. They were supposed to _hate_ each other. He had orders to _kill _her! And yet, here he was practically drooling over the girl.

At that moment, to Draco's horror, Granger shifted her scathing eyes away from the cackling form of Pansy and found Draco staring up at her like a love-drunk idiot. All the anger left her face for a brief moment and was replaced by one of pure bemusement.

Draco quickly ripped his gaze away before the others noticed the nonverbal exchange, leaving Granger in a flustered silence. He couldn't believe he had been so careless as to let himself be caught gawking like that…. He must be going mad! Working to arrange his features as best he could into what he hoped was an arrogant sneer, he forced himself to laugh along with the others.

Much of her gusto lost now, Granger turned back to Pansy and the others and attempted to continue her berating, stealing one last uncertain glance at Draco.

"A-and you're not even in your school robes! If Professor McGonagall knew about this, you would all be—

"Oh Merlin, Granger, will you _shut up_ and go away?" Pansy was becoming visibly irritated now. She stood up and moved to close the sliding door. Granger retreated a couple of steps.

"Look, you slimy gits have to pull your weight just like the rest of us," piped up the voice of Ron Weasley, bracing a freckled hand against the door to prevent Pansy from slamming it shut. Draco had been so distracted he had not even noticed he was there. Crabbe and Goyle stood up and took positions on either side of Pansy like two body guards, flexing their swollen muscles and looking rather intimidating. They each seemed to have grown about a foot over the summer. Blaise slyly slipped his hand into his wand pocket, sitting upright and alert.

"Shove off Weasel!" Pansy scoffed in his face. "Draco and I will handle the last cars. You and your mudblood girlfriend can go back to your section!"

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!"

A ringing silence fell immediately after this command was bellowed by not one, but two male voices. All eyes in the compartment were widened in shock and fixed on Draco, who suddenly became aware that he was standing up and breathing very heavily. What had he done? Had he really just said that? Had he really just _defended _her? Horrified, he pushed his way through the stunned knot of Slytherins and Gryffindors at the door and strode off down the corridor as quickly as he could, ignoring the six pairs of eyes boring holes into his back and trying hard to forget how lovely Grangers face looked with a rosy blush on her luminescent white cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco marched forward, as fast as he could without breaking into a run, through carriage after carriage. He wasn't yet sure of his destination; he just had to get far away from Granger, and fast.

He still couldn't believe what had just happened, what he had just said. Why should he give a damn if someone calls Granger a mudblood? Had he not done so himself countless times? He couldn't actually have… _feelings_ for her…. No, that was unthinkable… impossible. He was a pure blood, from a noble and respected family, set far above her. She wasn't worthy of his affection or his attention. And as a servant of the Dark Lord, he was bound to do his bidding. That bidding was to kill Granger. And that's what he was going to do.

Several students pressed their faces to the glass of their compartments as he passed, their curiosities aroused at his urgency. Twice, he met with a student blocking his path in the corridor. One was a first year, and just one look of pure venom from his piercing silver eyes was enough to make the poor child cower against the wall so that Draco was able to pass without breaking his stride. The other, close to front of the train, was Dean Thomas, another muggle-born, closing the sliding door of a compartment. The dark Gryffindor looked up sharply at Draco's abrupt entrance into the carriage then crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"What're you doing Malfoy?" he asked bluntly.

"Out of the way, Thomas. I haven't got time to deal with the likes of you," Draco growled as he roughly checked Dean's shoulder with his own, forcing him to stagger backwards while Draco continued his progress.

"What the hell!" Dean protested angrily. "Fuck you, Slytherin prat!"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, his outreached hand an inch away from the door to the next compartment. He could feel heat rising up the nape of his neck. He did not turn around but remained fixed in his position.

"What did you say to me… _Mudblood_?" He spoke clearly and evenly, though he could feel anger and hatred coursing through his veins. His voice rang throughout the carriage and echoed in the heavy silence that followed.

"You-" Dean spat. Draco spun around to see his face contorted in fury and his hand flying into his robes.

"Oh please!" Draco said sharply as he closed the distance between them in about one second. "_Please_ give me an excuse to curse you into a smoldering heap right here. Let everyone see for themselves the stinking filth that runs through the veins of people like you. You aren't worthy to call yourself a wizard. It's an insult to my heritage that I should be made to endure your presence, year after fucking year, burning my eyes at your sight and choking on the air you pollute with your foul stench!"

With a howl of rage, Dean whipped his wand violently out of his robes, and a flash of bright red light erupted from its tip. But Draco was too quick for him. He had already drawn his wand and cast a shield charm by the time Dean's curse was completed. It crackled as it absorbed the spell and reflected the force back at Dean, who was knocked back off of his feet, his face twisted in pain.

Draco smirked as he stowed his wand back in his suit. "Ten points from Gryffindor. You lot really should learn to control your tempers," he sighed nonchalantly. "It will get you into trouble someday, when the proper order is restored," and without another word he turned on his heel and strode out of the carriage, leaving Dean fuming on the floor.

That felt good, but it hadn't driven away his concerns over the Granger matter. He needed to clear his head.

He needed a cigarette.

Draco finally reached the front carriage and stepped outside. He stood on a small platform between the long line of train cars and the deafening scarlet engine billowing clouds of white steam. The bulk of the engine sheltered this space from the wind, leaving the air relatively calm. He reached into his inner coat pocket and extracted a thin, black rectangular box. Packed inside were two rows of clove cigarettes, which his father had had imported from wizarding markets of East Asia. It was illegal to possess these in the United Kingdom… for most people.

_Ah, the perks of being an aristocrat_, Draco thought, smiling to himself as he leaned back against the carriage wall, pushed up the removable top of the box with his thumb, and extracted a long, thin, black cigarette with his teeth. He stowed the box away, back in his inner coat pocket, and ignited the tip of his cigarette with a practiced flick of his wand. He took a long draught of the burning clove, his ears full of the soothing crackle that it made. The taste was sweet as honey, yet it left a sharp tang on his tongue. Draco was beginning to feel relaxed and confident again, like all his cares and concerns were being burned away with his cigarette.

His pleasant reverie did not last long, for who else chose that very moment to stick their bushy head out of the compartment door than Hermione Granger. She took a furtive glance around and then stepped cautiously onto the platform where Draco was standing, still smoking. For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other. Finally, Draco was the one to break the silence.

"Well? What do you want, Granger?" he asked.

"I… I just…" Hermione blushed. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted to thank you for what you said back there… in the carriage." She was very red in the face, Draco noticed, and she looked more than a little uncomfortable.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "To anyone," he added more sternly, fixing her with his cold, grey, Malfoy stare. Hermione cast her eyes downward, and shuffled her feet awkwardly, making as though she were about to leave. Before she could reach a hand to the sliding door, Draco called out to her. "So where's the weasel? I would have expected to see him nipping at your heels everywhere you went." Hermione shot a cold stare at him.

"Well, not that it's any of your business," she retorted hotly, "but he chose to stay in the compartment we had picked out…. I told him I wanted to make one more round… just to check on things," she finished, a bit flustered. Draco smirked, his black cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth.

"And by 'check on things, ' you meant you wanted to come and find me, is that it Granger?" Draco asked in a silky, venomous voice. He blew out a cloud of sweet-scented smoke, promptly sending Hermione into a small coughing fit.

"Do I need *_cough_* to remind you that *_cough_* cigarettes aren't allowed *_cough_* on school property?" she shot at him, her deep, brown eyes now shining with defiance.

"Ooo, now you've got me," Draco laughed mockingly. "What are you going to do, report me to Professor Snape? He'd deduct points from Gryffindor just for bothering him with something so trivial." Draco took one last drag before tossing his half-finished cigarette over the side railing. "There, happy?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed contemptuously. "You had better change into your school robes," she said in a shrill tone that Draco supposed was meant to be authoritative. "As a prefect, you are the supreme example for the younger students, or have you forgotten?"

"Run back to Weasel, Granger," Draco sneered softly and dangerously, barely audible over the roar of the scarlet engine. "We both know our place in the grand order of things." Hermione's face adopted an extra shade of crimson, and a flame of anger blazed in her eyes, but she turned and marched back through the sliding door into the first car without another word. Draco remained fixed on the platform for another minute, trying once more to compose himself before going back in to his compartment and facing his fellow Slytherins. True, he had worn the practiced Malfoy mask well during this most recent encounter with Granger, but she still had an uncannily bewitching effect on his senses. He had to shake her out of his head somehow, or it would be impossible for him to complete the task the Dark Lord had assigned for him. With one last calming breath, he threw open the sliding door and made his way swiftly back to his compartment.

When he arrived, his fellow Slytherins were waiting for him.

"Well, well, there he is," Blaize mused with a smirk. "Care to tell us what the bloody hell that little outburst was all about?" Draco nudged his way onto a spot between Crabbe and Goyle on the booth before answering, every eye in the cabin fixed unwavering on him.

"I told you," he began slowly, choosing his words very carefully, "I've been given an assignment directly from the Dark Lord himself, and I am working towards a very specific goal. You would all do well to stay out of my way… and provide assistance when needed." His words hung thickly in the silence that followed. Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions, and Pansy's eyes became so wide they seemed almost too big for her head. Blaize looked astonished.

"So it's true," he said. "You really have been visited by him haven't you? He's really given you a job." Draco nodded solemnly, then considered a moment. _They're going to find out sooner or later_, he reasoned. He then proceded to unfasten the button on his right cuff and roll his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the Dark Mark emblazoned on his pale forearm. A collective shudder went around the compartment, punctuated by four sharp intakes of breath, then there was no sound at all except for the steady churing of the train wheels. From then on, everyone in that compartment looked to Draco with an intensified respect.

He looked around haughtily, his head held high, meeting every gaze in turn. For once Blaize was speechless, but not the others.

"What can I do to help you, Draco?" Crabbe asked slowly in his surprisingly soft voice, as if every word required a great deal of effort for him.

"And me?" joined in Goyle.

"Nothing for right now," Draco responded. He knew now that he had successfully regained his position of authority among his house-mates. "All I ask is that you be ready when I need you." Crabbe and Goyle both nodded fervently while Blaize and Pansy looked on in awe.

"It has something to do with the Granger girl, doesn't it? This assignment of yours," Pansy asked hopefully. "Ooh, she's going to get what's coming to her, and I hope I'm there when it happens." Pansy's heavily lidded eyes fixed on Draco in a look of sickening adoration. Draco resigned himself into thinking that now, at least the Slytherins would assume that no matter how he acted towards Granger, it was all part of the Dark Lord's plan.

He set about dressing himself in his school robes after he had let pass what he deemed an appropriate time for idolization from the others in the compartment. Pansy took a rather lewd interest in watching Draco strip down to his knickers. He feigned disregard, but, if truth be told, he rather enjoyed her attentions and made sure she got a good view of the bulge in his nether-regions before covering himself once again.

After what seemed no time at all, the train was pulling into Hogsmead Station. Draco excused himself from his friends and performed his prefect duties to the letter. He traversed the corridors quickly and opened all the compartment doors. He escorted the first years from his section of the train to the great oaf Hagrid to be ferried across the lake (an altogether stupid and pointless tradition in his opinion). He even ushered the older students into the thestral-pulled carriages making their way up to the castle. Before long, he was in his own carriage, making the trek up the sloping lawns himself. The great towers of Hogwarts loomed ever nearer, and within those walls, Draco knew that he must meet his destiny. Try as he might, he could not force the face of a certain bushy-haired girl from his mind as his carriage came to a stop in front of the great double doors of the entrance hall.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hermione, why aren't you eating anything? I thought you said you weren't gonna starve yourself for _spew _anymore." Hermione looked up from her untouched shepherd's pie and glared across the table at Ron as he stuffed an entire sausage into his mouth.

"I'm not eating because I'm not hungry," she replied coldly. "And for the last time, it's not _spew_, it's… urgh, nevermind." She looked away with distaste to spare herself the sight of his obscene chewing. _Disgusting_. Sometimes she wondered why she fancied Ron so much. The night at The Ministry had been the first time she had been truly honest with herself about her feelings. But of course, Ron remained hopelessly oblivious to any attempt she ever made at flirtation. Perhaps they would never be more than just friends. She sighed.

"Hermione, are you feeling alright?" Harry asked her.

"Yes, I'm fine I've just… got a lot on my mind. Prefect duties and… school work and all that."

"Schoolwork?" Ron mumbled aghast, his mouth still half full of sausage. "Bu' the term 'asn't eben 'tarted yet!" Hermione grimaced in disgust.

The first part of what she had said was true at least. She did have a lot on her mind, but it had nothing to do with prefect duties or schoolwork. She had spent most of the second half of the train ride replaying her last encounter with Malfoy. He had seemed his arrogant, pompous self again when she found him by the engines, but there was still something different about him. The way he looked at her with those silver eyes… they were unsettling, and yet…. No, she couldn't let herself think like that. This was Draco Malfoy, she reminded herself, the nasty, vile, loathsome little Slytherin who had done nothing but torment her and her friends since their first day at Hogwarts. And what was more, he was _dangerous_, the son of a Death Eater, and possibly in contact with You Know Who. No, she was far better off with Ron. He could be sweet, caring, even brave, and he made her laugh. And he was safe.

_But Draco defended me_, a voice argued in the back of her head. _He spoke up for me when that awful Pansy called me a mudblood_. But that shouldn't matter, she told herself. Not after the countless times he himself had called her that and worse over the years. Not after all the sneers, the insults, the cruel japes, the snitching…. One little outburst on her behalf was not enough to undo all that. And yet….

"Look, Hermione, if you're not going to eat that, can I have it before it gets cold?" She pushed her plate across the table and Ron proceeded to devour its contents greedily. _Honestly, where does he put it all?_

Hermione lapsed back into her thoughtful silence, and soon Harry abandoned his attempts at conversation and turned to engage Dean instead, who seemed quite agitated about something. She was only half-listening to what they were saying until the mention of the name "Malfoy" perked her interest. "He's a self-righteous, arrogant prick!" Dean was saying. "And he thinks he's set so far above everyone else. Well, I mean to knock him down a peg or two. If he hadn't caught me unawares on the train…."

"Caught you unawares?" Seamus was laughing from further down the table. "He deflected your curse and knocked you on your arse is what happened! I saw the whole thing through my window."

"Yeah, and a bloody great big help you were," Dean grumbled. "I'm serious though. You've all seen the way he struts around the castle like he owns the place, saying whatever he pleases to whomever he pleases. He wears that prefect badge like it's a bloody crown. I'm sick of it. I think we should teach him a lesson."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Ron had joined the conversation now.

"I think we should wait until we find him alone somewhere, and then ambush him. Make him see that he's no better than the rest of us, and that there're more people in this castle who would stand against him than beside him."

"Count me in," said Ron. "I've always wanted to give Malfoy a good hex."

"Me too," added Seamus.

"If any of you do anything of the sort, I'll report you all to the headmaster," Hermione said so suddenly that they all turned and stared. "And _you_, Ron, I can't believe you'd be willing to take part in this nonsense. You are a _prefect_."

"What the… but…" Ron sputtered. "This is _Malfoy_ were talking about, Hermione. Why are you defending him? Have you forgotten that you two _hate_ each other?"

"If you all go through with this stupid, ill-conceived plan, then you're just as bad as any of the Slytherins, and the only thing you'll accomplish is getting yourselves landed in detention and a massive deduction in House Points for Gryffindor."

"You've gone mental." Ron shook his head at her. "What do you think, Harry?"

"I think she's got the right of it."

"What? I don't believe it. What's gotten into the two of you?"

"Look, I'm not sticking up for Malfoy or anything," Harry protested. "God knows I'd love to dual him one-on-one, but it's just not fair to gang up on someone like what you're talking about. It's cowardly, and it's just the sort of thing that Slytherins or even Death Eaters would do. If you guys want to confront him openly about what he said or did or whatever, then I'll be behind you; but otherwise, Dean, it's your quarrel. You should be the one to settle it if it bothers you that much."

Hermione nodded approvingly at Harry's words, but the others did not seem appeased. Dean scowled and busied himself with his plate and didn't speak for the rest of the feast. Ron and Seamus exchanged mutinous glances and took to speaking amongst themselves in low voices; and Neville, who had remained silent throughout the whole affair, kept shifting his gaze between the pairs of Ron and Seamus, and Harry and Hermione with an anxious expression, as though he were trying to decide who's side he should take.

Hermione hoped that Ron and the others would not try to do anything stupid. Surely Ron had more sense than that, she told herself. But then again, he had never exactly been the most temperamental of boys…. Perhaps she should warn Draco, just in case.

"Speaking of Malfoy," Harry whispered to her.

"What?" Hermione started at the mention of the name.

"What's up with him tonight?"

"What do you mean? What happened on the train? Yes, what he said in the compartment was strange, but the whole business with Dean seems perfectly within his character, don't you think?" She hadn't told any of them about their conversation by the engines.

"No, I mean here at the feast. He keeps looking over here. He's been doing it ever since we sat down."

Hermione started to turn.

"Don't look now!" Harry grabbed her arm. Hermione took a few steadying breaths to calm her racing heart. _Why am I getting so worked up all of a sudden?_ Then, she reached for her goblet and casually brushed her fork off the table, sending it clattering onto the stone floor. "Smooth," Harry muttered, amused.

"Oh, shut up." When she reached down to pick it up, she stole a quick glance at the Slytherin table.

Draco was sitting off to one side with the rest of the sixth years, not eating or talking to anyone, but just pushing food around on his plate with disinterest. Something did seem off about him, she thought. She would have expected him to be regaling his housemates with the story of his encounter with Dean on the train, or perhaps flirting with Pansy Parkinson. The second scenario made her feel curiously angrier than the first.

It seemed clear that Draco was lost in thought about something, and Hermione wondered what could be troubling him. Then he looked up, directly at where she was sitting, and she was lost in those bright, silver eyes. Even from this distance, they sparkled in the light of a hundred candles floating throughout the Great Hall. They held their gaze for only a moment, before Draco started and looked quickly away, but Hermione lingered in her position, her mind full of questions. _What's going on? Draco's never shown any interest in me before… unless it was an attempt to make my life miserable_.

She sat up, feeling more confused than ever, and started to reach for a treacle tart before she realized she'd forgotten to pick up her fork.

"Weird, huh?" Harry whispered, studying her expression.

"Yes…" Hermione agreed. "Very."

When Professor Dumbledore, rose to his feet to give his annual welcoming speech, a hushed silence fell over the students, as usual. Immediately, Hermione noticed the headmaster's hand. There was something terribly amiss about it. The fingers were withered and blackened and seemed barely attached to an equally discolored palm. It looked… _dead_. When she said as much to Harry, he nodded and reflected her concerns.

"I know, it looked like that this summer when he picked me up from the Durselys,' but every time I asked about it, he would get all evasive and change the subject."

Hermione began to whisper some theories about what could have caused Dumbledore's injury, but soon became mortified to find that she and Harry were talking through his speech! What if she was missing important information? She quickly broke off their conversation and listened attentively as Dumbledore droned through the announcements of Filch's new bans, Quidditch trials, and other trivial items, not really saying anything noteworthy until he casually acknowledged that the new Professor Slughorn would be taking up the post of Potions while Snape would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, to the general uproar of almost every student in the hall. Harry and Ron seemed particularly outraged by this, but, although Hermione couldn't say she was pleased about the new appointment, she didn't feel that it was cause for any serious alarm. Dumbledore appeared to trust Snape, and even if he was mistaken, Snape couldn't do any real harm so long as they were in Hogwarts, could he?

Dumbledore's last message before sending them all off to bed concerned the thing that had been weighing most heavy on the minds of everyone in the hall, the return of He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers. Mostly, he offered words of comfort and assurance that every necessarily precaution had been taken to insure their safety with the castle walls, but he also urged them to be wary of anything unusual. "Anything at all," he told them. "And report it to a staff member immediately."

Without thinking, Hermione suddenly found herself glancing back toward the Slytherin table, to Draco Malfoy; and his expression shocked her. He was staring unblinkingly at the headmaster, his hand clenched into a tight fist upon the table and his features contorted into an expression of pure hatred. Hermione had never seen him like that. His usual sneers and insolent looks were, of course, well known to her, but this time he looked almost… _frightening_. Shaken, she looked away just as Dumbledore dismissed them all to their dormitories.

"C'mon Hermione," Ron said sullenly over the thunder of two dozen large benches being pushed back. "We've got to go find out the password from the Fat Lady so we can let the first years in."

"What… oh, right…." She hesitated. "You go on ahead. I need to talk with Professor McGonagall about something. Ron shrugged and strode off. He still seemed in a foul mood, but Hermione would deal with that later.

"See you in the Common Room," said Harry, and he departed as well, leaving her alone at the Gryffindor table.

She waited until the Great Hall had mostly emptied and then went off in search of Draco. She was still perturbed by the way she had seen him look at Professor Dumbledore, but not enough to deter her from seeking him out. On the contrary, Hermione was shocked to find that she actually found Draco's behavior _interesting _more than anything else. She wanted to know the reasons behind it, almost like a mystery... Perhaps Ron was right all those times he'd called her 'mental' in the past.

To her relief and surprise, she found Draco lingering just outside the entrance to the dungeons, and to her disgust, she saw that Pansy Parkinson was with him. She did not want to be seen by her. Luckily, there was a throng of Ravenclaws making their way to the adjacent stairs, and she was able to slip in with them without being noticed. Even with a perfect hearing augmentation charm, she could only barely catch what they were whispering to each other.

"Come on, Draco," Pansy was saying. "We've been beating around the bush for ages. I'm ready. I want you to be my first." Hermione's breath hitched.

"God, have some dignity, woman," Draco hissed back, but Hermione could detect a hint of amusement in his voice. "Carry on like this, and I'm going to think you're nothing more than a dirty little slut." Pansy let out a hideous giggle that made Hermione shudder. "Besides… haven't I done enough to please you in the past?"

"Mmm, yes." She leaned in closer. "But I want _all_ of you." She reached for his nether regions, but Draco caught her wrist and stayed her.

"Well you'll just have to wait," he whispered darkly. "I have important business to attend to, and I can't be distracted by your girlish desires."

"Oh, surely that can wait."

"It can't." Pansy looked momentarily taken aback. "Now go see to the first years. Their whining annoys me."

"If that's what you want…" She fixed him with a cold stare and then stalked off to the dungeons. Hermione was suddenly shocked to find that she and Draco were now the only ones left in the Entrance Hall. The Ravenclaws had already departed to the upper levels and left her standing halfway up the staircase. Now was her chance. She timidly made her way back down the steps, and Draco turned at the sound.

His eyes widened briefly at the sight of her and then quickly narrowed as his face adopted the Malfoy sneer that she had come to know so well.

"What do you want, Granger? I've just gotten rid of one bothersome wench; I don't need another." She paused on the last stair so that she could see eye-to-eye with him.

"Well I _did_ have some information that I thought you might like to know, but if you're going to speak to me like that, then I'm not sure I feel like sharing it." Draco laughed.

"I'm not interested in new prefect duties or updated course syllabi, or anything else that you might consider 'useful information,' Granger. Now why don't you run along up to Gryffindor Tower, before you get yourself in trouble?" He took a quick glance around, as if to check for the presence of teachers, then produced a silver flask from his robes. "What?" he chuckled at Hermione's look of stunned disapproval. "Going to report me?"

"I ought to!" she retorted hotly. "You should never have been made a prefect."

Draco shrugged. "For once we agree on something, Granger. It's more of an irritation than anything. But you needn't trouble yourself." He indicated the flask in his hand. "It's pumpkin juice."

"I doubt that."

Draco smiled, unscrewing the lid and swirling its contents. "Care to taste for yourself?" He held it out to her. Hermione hesitated. "Don't worry," he sneered mockingly, "I haven't poisoned it or anything." He took a long draught himself then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. "See?" When Hermione didn't say anything, he recapped the flask and stowed it back into his robes. "You're starting to bore me, Granger. Was there something you wanted to say or not?"

For a moment Hermione considered leaving. Why should she warn Malfoy about some Gryffindor prank that probably would never happen anyway? She should let the arrogant bastard find out for himself. Instead, she heard herself say, "Dean's really angry about what happened on the train between you two. He and some of the Gryffindor boys were talking about catching you off guard and trying to hurt you…. Just thought you should know."

Draco couldn't seem to hide the surprise on his face. "Oh really?" he said after a moment. "Well Thomas is such a pathetic dualist; he would need all the help he could get against me. It doesn't surprise me that he would go sniveling to Potter and your Weasel boyfriend. But I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be _brave_. Why doesn't he face me like a man?" Draco scoffed when Hermione had no response for him. "Then again, I suppose he is only a mud—" the rest of the word caught in his throat, and he grunted, meeting her gaze with a strange expression on his face. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Anyway, don't worry about me, Granger. I can take care of myself." He turned to leave. Hermione turned too, making to head back up the marble stairs, until Draco called back to her, freezing her in mid-step.

"Oi, Granger! Why bother telling me this, anyway?" he demanded.

Hermione looked at him. He stood out like some luminescent angel, standing there in the dark, gloomy passageway to the dungeons with his pale skin and bright blonde hair. She didn't know what to say. "I… I just don't want to see anyone get hurt," was all she could manage before she hurried up the steps and retreated to the upper castle.

All that night she dreamed of Draco, and no matter what she did, she was been unable to forget the image of his face and the curious expression that it wore, an expression that was at once confused, angry, and… _sad_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: This chapter contains some DracoxPansy. Skip if you don't want to read**

Draco had to get a grip on his self. He was losing it. She was nothing to him, _nothing_. Those feelings he had had on the train and after the feast were just due to nerves, he told himself; nothing more. But he could not be weak. He could not fail his new master. He could not allow himself to become attached to Hermione Granger. _Perhaps I'd better finish her off sooner rather than later…._

He rounded a corner and marched down yet another gloomy, deserted corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly off the stones. It was stupid that the prefects should be made to patrol the castle on the night before the first classes, in his opinion; no one would be stupid enough to break curfew then. Besides, all the start-of-term festivities were held in the house Common Room anyway, for the Slytherins at least. Draco couldn't say for sure what the other houses did to commemorate their arrival, but he'd be ready to wager that their celebrations were nothing if not tame compared to the party he knew was raging in the dungeons at that moment.

He took another swig from his flask. _They can keep me from enjoying myself with these mundane Prefect duties,_ he thought, _but I'll be damned if I'll do them sober._ The pumpkin juice he had used as a mixer did little to mask the powerful flavor of his father's scotch. It burned on the way down, but it was a good feeling. He felt as though he was burning his troubles away, and he began to walk with more of a strut in his step.

It was after midnight by the time he had finished his rounds. He swayed dangerously as he turned to make his way back to the dungeons and was forced to brace a hand against the stone wall to steady his self. _I should not have drank this much_, he thought as he stowed his empty flask back inside his robes. He imagined the Dark Lord's reaction if he told him that he was unable to complete his mission because he'd been expelled for drunkenly wandering the corridors his first night back at the castle. The thought was so absurd he actually laughed out loud, waking several slumbering portraits along the walls and earning himself some disapproving stares and mutterings as he staggered past.

He did not meet any teachers on his trek back to the dungeons, which was lucky because they surely would have smelled alcohol on him, but as he neared the first floor on the Grand Staircase, there was a crash like glass breaking followed by a string of mad cackles coming from the landing beyond. _Peeves._ He stepped onto the landing just as the poltergeist was zooming past in the opposite direction, but the sight of Draco made Peeves stop in midair and turn about to face him.

"Well well, what have we here?" His mouth spread into a wide, toothy grin. "The Malfoy lad out for a late night stroll? Alright for prefectsies, but not one's who've been in their cups, methinks! Should tell Professor Snape, I should."

"Careful, Peeves," Draco warned.

"Ooo, the ferret seems angry. Maybe a song will cheers him up!" The little ghost puffed out his chest and began to sing,

_Oh, young Draco, you're ugly, pathetic, and pissed_

_You've got no true friends, you're a right little shit!_

_And your father is rotting alone in a cell_

_And after he's dead, he'll go straight to Hell!_

When he was done with his song, Peeves bounced around on the steps in front of Draco, smiling manically and awaiting his reaction.

"The Bloody Baron will hear of this," Draco said, inflicting as much malice as he could into each word and trying hard not to slur. Peeve's face twisted into a pained expression, as though he was unsure whether to be defiant or mortified.

"No need to get the Baron involved. I was only jokin.' What's a bit of a laugh between friends?" And with that, he launched himself backwards up the Grand Staircase, blowing a long, loud raspberry as he went.

Draco continued his progress toward the dungeons, now in a considerably fouler mood. As usual, the lower castle was even darker and gloomier than the upper castle had been. Most of the torches had burnt out, and ones that had not flickered feebly in their sconces, shedding only enough light for him to mark the positions of the walls, but he did not ignite his wand. There was no need, for he knew these passages by heart. Wrapping his robes tighter around his body to brace against the damp, chilly air, he plunged ahead into the darkness.

When he came in sight of the bare stone wall concealing the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, he was annoyed to find a sour-faced first year standing warily in front of it. This did not surprise him, as it was the Slytherins custom to post a first year as sentry on the night of their start-of-term party so that he could provide warning should any teachers or other unwelcome visitors come snooping around. This precaution was hardly necessary; the thick stone walls muffled almost all sound coming from the room, and any that they did not was silenced by charms; and the only teacher who ever had any business in the dungeons anyway was Professor Snape, and he took little interest in his house's activities outside of school hours. No, for the most part, they were left alone down here in the bowls of the castle; but still, no one relished the thought of any teachers catching wind of how they carried on, so the tradition persisted.

Draco was still hidden in shadow as he approached, so the boy heard him before he saw him.

"Who—who's there?" he called out in a squeaky voice, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. He jumped and recoiled when Draco stepped suddenly into the light of the low-burning torch above his head.

"Open the bloody door and piss the fuck off," Draco drawled, opening his robes enough for the younger student to see he wore Slytherin colors. The poor boy looked utterly terrified as he turned and hurriedly whispered something to the wall before scampering aside. _I have _got _to find some way of remembering these bloody passwords_, Draco thought as the cold stone slowly melted away to reveal a portal into the lively din beyond.

When Draco entered his ears were greeted with a particularly tumultuous song by the Weird Sisters, magically amplified by an expensive looking record player. Those who saw him gave intoxicated shrieks of delight and pulled him more into the fray. The room was so packed that everyone stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder, and those who were not dancing violently to the deafening roar were either shouting in slurred conversations, or partnering up and snogging against a wall or in one of the leather armchairs. A few first years stood off to one side, as far away from the madness as the limited space would allow, timidly sipping butterbeer from the bottles clutched in their hands and looking more than a little afraid.

Someone shoved a drink in Draco's hand. It was hard to tell what it was in the dim light, so he brought it up to his nose and sniffed it. _Firewhisky._ He drained the entire glass in one gulp.

Peering through the thick, green haze that filled the room, he spotted his fellow sixth years seated on a couch near the fireplace and weaved his way through the jostling crowd to join them. Pansy had apparently abandoned her prefect duties early enough to change into a dangerously short skirt with high heels and stockings that came up to her knees, and several buttons of her shirt had been undone, exposing a green lace bra and a generous amount of cleavage.

"_DRACO!_" she screeched when she saw him. She lurched to her feet, sloshing about half of the smoking contents of the glass clutched in her hand onto the floor, and Draco saw plainly that she had neglected to wear panties this evening, or else had lost them at some point. She staggered over to meet him and planted a sloppy kiss, missing his lips and getting him on the nose instead. Her breath smelled strongly of firewhisky. Draco pushed her away with disgust. _I am not nearly drunk enough for her yet_," he thought as he squeezed onto the couch next to an unconscious Crabbe and Blaize, who was currently packing a large pinch of some dry, greenish substance into a finely wrought bowl shaped like a dragon.

"Pipe weed?" Draco asked casually. Blaize nodded.

"Stocked up just before my folks brought me to Kings Cross." He pulled out his wand and ignited the bud, inhaling deeply from the mouthpiece before blowing out a cloud of thick, stale-smelling smoke and succumbing to a small fit of coughs. "'Ere," he wheezed, passing the piece to Draco. It was still running, so Draco inhaled until the contents of the dragon's mouth were reduced to charred, black dust.

It was good, strong stuff, very strong; but even so, Draco was not seized by the urge to cough until the end of his hit. A pleasant tingle began to spread through his body and his head was swimming as time slowed around him. He refilled the bowl and took one more hit before passing it off to Goyle and leaning back against the cushions, basking in a hazy bliss.

The rest of the night passed Draco by like a dream, and he retained only a vague awareness for any given situation. Now he was sitting on the couch laughing giddily with Blaize about nothing in particular; now he was dancing with a girl he did not know, holding another drink which he did not remember pouring; now he was laughing uproariously as Millicent Bullstrode wrestled a fourth year boy to the ground and sat on him; now he was playing truth or dare with a knot of students and cheering along with them as a busty fifth year ran a naked lap around the room; now he was sucking firewhisky from a girls belly button, now he was in someone's dormitory, eating a glowing mushroom that allowed him to hear in color; now he was back in the Common Room, and he and Blaize had made a drinking game out of exploding snap; then he was in an armchair, and Pansy was on his lap, unfastening the buttons of his shirt….

He did not remember bringing Pansy into his dormitory; perhaps she had simply followed him. But the next thing he knew was him and her writhing on his bed, ripping clothes off each other and kissing whatever bare skin their mouths could reach with animalistic desire. He tore the bra from her shoulders, baring her large, pale breasts, and squeezed them with his equally pale hands. "Oooooh," she moaned as he took each nipple into his mouth in turn and sucked and flicked with his tongue until they were as hard and stiff as his cock. When he came up for air, she grasped a fistful of his sleek, blonde hair and threw his head back to bite roughly at his neck. _She's quite enthusiastic tonight_, Draco thought. _She must have had a very frustrating summer_. He responded eagerly, nibbling at her earlobes and biting her neck so hard he left bright, scarlet marks. Her body quivered and her back arched, making her breasts bounce as she dug her nails deep into the flesh of his lean back. "Do it," she whispered urgently. "Do it now Draco, I'm ready."

Draco violently pivoted both their bodies, so that Pansy was under him, her back against the mattress. "Just how ready are you?" He thrust a hand under her obscenely short skirt. She was soaking wet. With fumbling fingers, she tugged at a side zipper, and the skirt was gone, leaving her completely naked. Her body was shaved except for one narrow strip of short, black hair ascending from her vulva. Draco slowly ran a long, thin finger down this path, barely brushing the course hair and then pushed gently against her opening. His finger slid in easily, and Pansy shuddered and spread her legs wider. He added a second finger and pushed them both back as far as they would go and hooked them, searching until he found that sweet spot that made her gasp while his thumb tickled her clitoris on the outside.

Draco continued working Pansy with skilled fingers while she tore frantically at his trousers, and then his knickers and began pumping away at him.

"I love your cock, Draco," she moaned. "I love how _long_ it is, how_ smooth_ it is, how _thick_ it is…. I want it inside me." Draco was growing harder every second. He smirked at the girl below him.

"Alright then." He quickly pulled his hand out of her, eliciting another gasp, before grasping either side of her head and forcing her mouth to his glans. She resisted at first but soon realized what he wanted her to do and accommodated his wish with fervor. Shifting slightly into a less awkward position on the bed, she began to pump Draco with her mouth just as she had done with her hand, but she soon found that she could only take in about half of Draco's cock before gagging, so seemed to content herself with sucking hungrily everywhere she was able while her hand continued to work the base of his shaft.

She kept up her efforts like that for several minutes, but Draco could not come. Something wasn't right. Twice, she looked up at him with beseeching eyes and made like she would release him, but both times Draco pushed down on the back of her head and redoubled his own efforts to orgasm. He wanted to come… he _really _wanted to. What was wrong? He thought maybe if he truly went inside her the way that she had intended it might happen, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to do that. _This will work_, he told himself. _It will_. _It has to._ _Pansy is good for me. She can keep me on track, keep me focused on my goal. _What was his goal again? It was hard to think clearly in this predicament. Suddenly a pair of deep, amber eyes popped into his mind, and a soft, innocent white face rosy with laughter, and long, rich auburn hair….

It was as though someone had cast _lumos _in the dark. Draco's sensitivity in his genitalia was heightened to a peak, and he was seized by a violent shudder that turned his spine to jelly. Before he even knew what was happening, his vision erupted in a burst of scarlet and he was coming harder than he had ever come in his life. Pansy gulped and sputtered, again and again, thick white trails of what she couldn't swallow leaking out of the corners of her grasped her head again and thrust his cock even deeper into her mouth, making her choke, but he was so consumed by his own euphoria that he didn't notice.

When he was finally spent, he flopped down on the mattress facing away from Pansy, his head spinning. Pansy lay curled up next to him, still coughing occasionally. After a minute she reached out and lightly stroked his shoulder. "I still want you, Draco," she whispered. "When will you be ready again?" Her hand started to wander over the planes of muscle covering his chest, heading south. Draco shrugged her off.

"You can leave now," he said. He did not feel as though he would desire anyone's company for a long time. Pansy hesitated.

"Leave?" she asked uncertainly. "Draco what's wrong?" When he didn't respond she continued, "I don't underst—"

"I said _go_!" Draco hissed. He spun around to face her. She looked shocked; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were welling with angry tears.

"So that's it then? You're just going to have me suck you off and then kick me out like some filthy muggle whore?"

"Tell me how to kick you out like a witch whore, and I'll do that instead."

"Fuck you!" she spat. She stood up and haphazardly covered herself with her clothes as quickly as she could before storming out of the dormitory without another word.

Draco sighed and leaned back against his pillow, staring miserably up at the canopy of his four-poster bed. _Hermione Granger is nothing. Hermione Granger is nothing. Hermione Granger is nothing, nothing, nothing!_ No matter how many times he said it to himself, he still couldn't shake her image out of his head. _I just need sleep, that's all. My head will be clearer in the morning._ He turned to glance at the clock on his bedside table and groaned. _5:00 a.m._, it read. _It's going to be a very long day…._


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione glowered into her copy of the _Evening Prophet_. _Ron is so stupid_, she thought. _What does he see in that Lavender anyway? Just because she spared him a passing _glance_, and now he's drooling after her like a stupid lovesick puppy_.

She, Ron, and Harry were all sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room after dinner. It was at this time that it was always the most crowded there, and they could barely hear each other over the din of the other students. But even in this dense crowd, she could follow Ron's gaze and see that it led directly to Lavender, laughing with Parvati Patil by the fire. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the newspaper tighter.

The day had been a busy one; Hermione had accompanied the boys to Quidditch trials that morning, when she had first noticed that look that Lavender and Ron had exchanged. For a moment she had hoped that Ron would prove too dense to comprehend its significance, but the swagger in his step afterwards convinced her otherwise, much to her chagrin. Even confunding Cormac McLaggen had failed to lift her spirits, though it had been satisfying after overhearing his remarks about Ron and Ginny; and visiting Hagrid had turned out to be pleasant enough, but it still left her feeling guilty for dropping Care of Magical Creatures this year.

All in all, Hermione was feeling none too cheerful when Ron stormed upstairs to the dormitories for some reason and Harry lumbered off begrudgingly to his detention with Professor Snape.

She leaned back in her squashy armchair and carefully folded her copy of the _Evening Prophet_. It was still too early to go to bed, so she supposed she might as well get some reading done for Arithmancy; she was only two chapters ahead of where they were in lecture, after all, and she didn't want to fall behind. As she reached down to retrieve the book from her bag leaning against her chair, she happened to glace back to where Lavender and Parvarti were sitting. They both seemed especially giddy this evening, speaking very rapidly to each other in hushed voices and erupting in fits of giggles every few seconds. Now and then one would steal a look at the stairs to the boys' dormitories, which only brought on more giggles. Hermione grimaced in distaste and shielded herself behind the massive Arithmancy tome.

She tried to lose herself in her reading, as had always been so easy for her, but Arithmancy had never seemed less interesting. After re-reading the same paragraph for the third time and not taking in a word of it, she sighed and let the heavy book fall into her lap with a dull thud. _What could they possibly be so worked up about?_ She wondered, studying Lavender and Parvati again from the corner of her eye. Silently she drew her wand from her pocket and aimed it at the pair, under the cover of her textbook. _I must not make too much of a habit of this. I'm becoming quite as nosy as Harry_, she thought before casting a wordless hearing augmentation charm at their corner.

The voices of everyone else in the room seemed to fade into a dull murmur as Parvati and Lavenders' conversation suddenly became clear, as though they were seated right next to her.

"So how much… _experience _do you think he has?" Parvati was asking anxiously.

"I'm not sure," replied Lavender. "I never really see him hanging around any girls other than Hermione, and I'm sure she's never even _kissed_ a boy."

"Oh I wouldn't be so quick to underestimate her," Parvati said slyly. "Remember fourth year? You don't think she and Viktor Krum ever…?"

"I doubt it. I know he's a famous Quidditch star and everything, but he seemed terribly awkward, and let's be honest, Hermione Granger wouldn't know one end of a broomstick from the other."

Hermione's fists clenched around the cover of the book she was once again pretending to read as Parvati and Lavender were seized by yet another fit of giggles. _God, how can they be so stupid_, she thought. _They know nothing_. Triggered by their words, a memory from two years earlier suddenly came spilling into the forefront of her mind, as clear as if it had only just happened.

It was just after the Yule Ball, and Ron had had the _nerve_ to accost her again about her relationship with Viktor, right here in the Common Room. The row that ensued had made her so angry, she'd wanted to scream. And she did. She'd screamed herself hoarse into her pillow for a good ten minutes in the girls' dormitory. It was all too much for her. Couldn't Ron see that it was him she wanted? Why did he have to be so stupid? If he felt the same way, then why couldn't he just come out and tell her? She needed someone to confide in, someone who listened to her and appreciated her. Harry had been no help that evening… there had been only one person she could think of.

It had taken her the better part of an hour to sneak out of the castle and across the grounds to the Durmstrangs' ship floating out on the lake. Without Harry's invisibility cloak, she had been forced to skulk through the shadows and peer around corners to check for prefects and teachers before silently creeping to the next. She had almost been caught twice. The first time was as she was making her way down the grand staircase and spotted Mr. Filch coming up just one floor below, and she had just barely enough time to hastily scurry to the nearest landing and lay low while she waited for him to limp past, muttering darkly about every student who had spilled butterbeer in the Great Hall that evening. The second time had been at the massive doors to the castle grounds in the Entrance Hall. She had pushed one slab of creaking oak apart from the other just enough to make a space wide enough for her slim frame to squeeze through, when the doors to the Great Hall were suddenly knocked open, spilling a stream of light across the flagstone floor that bounced and danced off of the house hourglasses and caused them to shimmer in brilliant arrays of red, green, blue, and yellow. Hermione had frozen midstep, and her breath hitched in her throat. If Professor McGonnagle had come through the doors facing the other direction, then she surely would have spotted her and marched her straight to her office right then and there. As luck would have it however, she had backed out of the doors in a most curious position, bending over with her rump in the air and calling out to someone still in the Great Hall in an oddly husky voice thick with champagne. "Oh come now, Filius," she had said with a simpering laugh that was quite uncharacteristic of her. "I've just recently discovered the most illuminating text on pleasure charms from the Restricted Section, and I would be very interested in reviewing Chapters Twenty-Three through Thirty with you in my quarters." Hermione slipped out while she was talking and closed the door gently behind her, wishing she knew the right spell to un-hear everything she had just heard.

The grounds had been still and quiet. The bushes with their glowing fairies had been cleared away but the silvery blanket of snow that covered the grass still glistened in the moonlight. When she had reached the dock that had been erected for the Durmstrang students leading out to their ship, she realized that she had no way of knowing where to find Viktor, and that was assuming she could even mange to get on the ship and sneak below deck without waking everyone on board and getting in more trouble than she had ever been in in her life. _What's happened to me?_ She remembered thinking. _I've never broken the rules this severely before. If I'm caught, I'll surely be expelled. Perhaps I should just turn back now…. _

Just then a door leading into the ship's cabin had opened, and two figures had stepped out onto the dock. Hermione had no time to hide, and she knew she had been seen, so she stood waiting for them to reach her, anxiously preparing to beg whoever they were for leniency. However, as the shapes became clearer, she'd realized with astonishment that these weren't teachers, but students, and not just any students, but—"Parvati? Padma?"

"Hermione?" the Patil twins had said together, both wearing similar expressions of shock on their faces. Both of them were still dressed in their gowns from the Yule Ball, though they looked slightly disheveled, and their hair was in a bit of disarray.

"What are you doing out here?" Hermione asked. "I didn't even see you come back to the tower, Parvati." It was hard to be sure in the dark, but Hermione thought the twins must have been blushing by the way they shifted their body stances and cast nervous smiles at each other.

"Well we met some really nice Durmstrang boys, and they… offered to show us their ship."

Hermione had suppressed a smile. "It must have been quite a tour for it to take all night."

"Yeah, well what are _you _doing here, Hermione?" Parvati retorted. Then it had been Hermione's turn to be shy.

"I just, er… you two didn't happen to see… Viktor when you were in there did you?" she asked uncertainly. The twins' eyes suddenly lit up with intrigue and they both stifled giggles.

"Oooh, Viktor Krum? We didn't actually _see _him, but that's because he has his own private cabin. Apparently he had already turned in by the time we got there. So you're here for a little rendezvous with your date then?"

"Well I… er…" Hermione had no idea what to say.

"Don't worry. We won't tell anyone," Parvati promised with a wink.

"As long as you promise not to tell anyone about us either," Padma added.

"Yes. Alright," said Hermione, feeling very flustered.

"Good. I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. It looked like you two definitely hit it off at the ball. Not to mention you look _gorgeous_ tonight."

"Oh, well… thank you," Hermione was not used to getting compliments like that. "So do you. Both of you." The twins had examined each other's disheveled appearance and then broken into laughter. Hermione had hesitated a moment, and then she'd begun to laugh too. _Harry and Ron would think I'm absolutely off my rocker right now_, she could remember thinking. _Perhaps I could use some close girlfriends_.

"Okay Parvati, we really need to get back to the castle before we get us all expelled, or freeze to death."

"Alright," Parvati agreed. "But first, let's see Hermione into the ship."

The two of them led Hermione back across the deck to the little door they had come out of, and when Padma pushed it open, Hermione witnessed a scene she certainly did not expect. It seemed that the Durmstrang students had put forth their best efforts to continue the party that had ended in the castle from within their ship. There was music that seemed to be coming from everywhere, and the place was packed with students, all holding drinks, shouting and laughing at one another. The noise was so loud Hermione was amazed to think there was a silencing charm strong enough to withstand it. Looking she saw that this party did not only consist of Durmstrang students, not by a long shot. It seemed that almost all of the girls from Beauxbatons were there, each one paired with a tall, handsome boy or two. She also noticed several of the older, more popular students from Hogwarts. Roger Davies was dancing _very_ closely with Fleur Delacour, and both of them were clutching cups filled with some smoking red liquid. Hermione wondered if it was firewhisky. She also spotted Cedric Diggory who looked quite busy with Cho Chang in a corner by a cask of butterbeer. She felt a twinge of sympathy for Harry at the sight of them. There was also Angelina Johnson, Cormac McLaggen, the Weasley twins (who each gave a shriek of delight at the sight of her and shoved a glass of that smoking liquid into her hands), and several others. There were even two members of The Weird Sisters, smoking from a long pipe that emitted a strange, blue smoke and surrounded by a gaggle of doe-eyed girls, Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane among them.

Hermione looked suspiciously at the smoldering contents of the cups in her hands, but she couldn't see much through the smoke. She took a tentative sniff. _Yes_, she thought, stifling a cough, _definitely firewhisky_. She turned and extended them to the Patil twins.

"Thanks," said Padma, accepting the glass that was offered to her and downing its contents in one gulp. Hermione stared as her house-mate made a face and a steady stream of smoke flowed from her ears.

"Padma, you should slow down," her sister warned. You've already had a lot tonight, and it's getting late." She looked thoughtfully at the glass in her own hand. "You don't want it?" she asked Hermione.

"No, I shouldn't." Parvati eyed her quizzically.

"You've never been drunk before, have you?"

Hermione was saved the responsibility of answering when two Durmstrang students suddenly approached and hailed the twins. "Parvati! Padma! You half come back!" a boy with sandy blonde hair and a dusting of freckles said in a thick Scandinavian accent.

"Who is your friend?" said the other one, a broad-chested boy with short, dark hair and even darker eyes.

"This is Hermione. She's looking for Viktor," Parvati explained. "And I'm afraid we can't stay. We just wanted to show her in."

"Oh, come on Parvati," Padma whined. "Half the school is still here. They can't possibly expel all of us. Let's stay a while longer."

"Yes, come. Half one more dance vith me," the blonde boy held out his hand. For a moment, it looked as though Parvati would argue, but instead she sighed with a look of defeat and then broke into a smile as she allowed herself to be led off by the handsome youth.

"Vould you like a drink?" asked the other boy, his arm draped across Padma's shoulders.

"No. Thank you," said Hermione. "But, er… could you tell me where I might find Viktor?"

"Of course. His room is near the stern of the ship. The one vith the snitch for a doorknob."

Hermione thanked the boy and began to make her way through the dense crowd, weaving in between dancers and snoggers. It was hard to believe the ship was large enough to hold so many people. She had not gone very far when a familiar, drawling voice made her freeze mid-step.

"Oi! Is that Granger? I'd thought this would be a mudblood-free party."

Hermione peered through the crowd and saw the pointed face and lithe frame of Draco Malfoy supporting a very drunk Pansy Parkinson. _Great,_ she'd thought. She should have known Malfoy would want to put himself in the middle of a scene like this. He must have been the only boy her age there. She'd decided it would be best to ignore him. Judging from his speech and the ruby glow covering his usually pale cheeks, she would have wagered he was almost as drunk as his date.

"Do the Weasel and Scarhead know you're here?" he slurred after her as she passed. "They must be heartbroken to know you've forsaken their pathetic arses for better company. Tell me, how many times have you polished Krum's broomstick tonight?" Hermione had felt her cheeks begin to flush. Unable to restrain herself, she rounded on the Slytherin.

"_You're _the one who's pathetic, Malfoy! Who did you have to bribe to even be allowed in here? Or did you just _slither_ in unnoticed?"

"Ooh yes, very _clever_, Granger," Malfoy had scoffed. "But it just so happens that these Durmstrang lot are much more competent judges of character than any sods at Hogwarts."

"Excuse me," said a gruff voice from behind Hermione. Malfoy's face had quickly returned to its normal shade of white as Viktor Krum stepped up beside her and placed a strong, calloused hand on her shoulder. "Is there a problem here?" Malfoy had spared Hermione one last sour look before wheeling his half-conscious date toward a keg of butterbeer. "I don't know about that one," Viktor mused. "He can be very charming… He has made many friends among my classmates, but I fear that he is too fond of the dark arts."

Hermione could remember how somber and ruggedly handsome Viktor's face had looked that night. There was something about his sullen air and aloof demeanor that she had found mysterious and fascinating. She'd sometimes felt that she was the only person that he would let break through his cold exterior and discover his true feelings. She supposed that had been the main driving force of her attraction to him, but when Viktor took her into his private room that night, it somehow didn't feel right. His kisses were wet and clumsy, and his hands fumbled awkwardly about the fastenings of her dress. As Hermione had lain naked on his bed, with his hulking figure looming over her, she couldn't help but feel that she would rather have been anywhere else at that moment.

She didn't know what was wrong with her at the time. She knew that hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women would have killed to have been in her position, but it made no difference. She hadn't felt like a woman as she'd wrapped herself in Viktor's white linens and felt tears welling in her eyes. She'd felt like a girl, small and afraid. "I'm sorry," she had said when he noticed her distress and inquired what was wrong. "I can't. This is wrong, I just… I _can't _Viktor, I'm sorry."

As Hermione thought back on that night now, she couldn't say what she had hoped would happen when she visited Viktor. She knew that he liked the person she was and cared deeply for her, and she thought she had felt the same way towards him… but perhaps she just wasn't ready. But if Viktor wasn't the one for her, than who was? Ron? Hermione looked again at Parvati and Lavender laughing in the firelight, and the realization hit her again that whatever feelings she harbored towards Ron may not amount to anything either. If she wanted Ron, it seemed now that she would have to fight for his attentions. _But is that really what I want?_ She pictured Ron's face in her mind, with his red hair and freckles and big, stupid grin. She imagined herself kissing him, and coiling her hands through those ginger locks. The thought was pleasant enough, but the more she considered, the more the color faded from her imaginary Ron's hair, until it was platinum blond, and his face became smooth and angular, and when she looked into his eyes, they were a cold, steely grey. _Granger_, he whispered.

Hermione snapped back to reality. She found herself slumped in her armchair, with her Arithmancy book lying face-down at her feet. A few students who had been watching her quickly looked away hiding sniggers. _I must have dozed off. These chairs and that bloody fire make this room far too comfortable_. She glanced at her watch; half past eight. There was still some time before curfew, and she could do with bit of change of scenery to complete her studies. She gently picked her book up from the floor, smoothing any creases in its pages before fitting in snuggly back in her bag, which she then threw over her shoulder and began to make for the portrait hole.

"Hermione! Hey, _Hermione!_" Lavender was calling her, still seated in the same spot with Parvati. _What could she possibly want_, Hermioe thought as she came to stand next to them.

"Yeah?" She tried to sound pleasant.

"Listen, I know you're friends with Ron, so I wanted to ask you about something." Hermione said nothing, but forced a smile to show she was listening. "Now, I don't want word to get around too much, but I think I really like him. He's cute and funny, and… I don't know, he just seems really nice." She and Parvati started giggling again, and Hermione sincerely wished there were not enchantments in place against apparition in Hogwarts. "So anyway," Lavender continued, apparently unperturbed by Hermione's stony silence. "Halloween is coming up, and want to do something that will catch his attention and maybe give him some clue how I feel. You know him better than any of us, what he likes and that sort of thing. Do you have any suggestions?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Spiders," she said.

Lavender made a face. "_Spiders?_"

"Yes. Oh, Ron has always just been _fascinated _by spiders. Little ones, giant ones, shiny ones, hairy ones, how they look, how they eat, and especially how they move." Parvati and Lavender looked at each other uncertainly, then back at Hermione who shrugged. "Don't ask me. Boys are stupid." The other girls laughed.

"Okay, well I'll figure something out. Thanks Hermione."

"Anytime," Hermione did her best to conceal her smirk until her back was turned, and she climbed through the portrait hole just as Dean and Seamus passed her on their way to the boys' dormitories.

She decided she would go to the library. It should be nice and quiet there at this time of night, most students having already returned to their Houses. When she arrived, the place was all but empty, save for Colin Creevy, who looked like he was trying to develop photographs by candlelight; a few of the more ambitious seventh years who had already begun studying for their N.E.W.T.s; and of course Madam Pince, the librarian. "_There_ you are, Miss Granger. I was beginning to worry," she twittered as Hermione shuffled past her desk. She tossed her bag on one of the many empty tables and pulled out her Arithmancy book again to read by the light of the lamp.

It was much easier to concentrate here, without all the distractions of the common room. Hermione was soon done annotating her chapter and felt confident that she had memorized all of its important concepts. She was just about to move on to Potions, when a voice from behind made her jump. "I honestly don't know why you even bother anymore, Granger. If you took your N.E.W.T.s right now, you'd probably do better than most of the seventh years." Draco Malfoy walked gracefully around her table and reclined in the seat opposite hers. His hair had grown a bit longer since the beginning of term, and it was messier than usual, as if he hadn't combed it in a couple of look was not at all unflattering, Hermione reflected before quickly banishing the thought from her mind.

"Well, unlike _some_ here, I have ambitions, Malfoy." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you here? You're not even doing homework."

Draco chuckled. "Oh but I _do_, have ambitions, Granger. In fact, my ambitions are so great, they outreach anything that Hogwarts could provide me."

"Right," said Hermione sardonically. "You know, if you hate this school so much, then why did you even come back this year? Is it because your mummy made you?"

Draco's face hardened slightly. "It's… complicated, Granger."

"Whatever," she looked around. "Where are your cronies?"

"Crabbe and Goyle? Surprisingly enough, they don't like the library," Draco shrugged. "Go figure."

Hermione huffed and returned to her book. When Draco didn't leave she looked up again. "Malfoy, will you please go away? I have work to do."

Draco leaned in closer. "I don't give a shit about your schoolwork, Granger," he whispered, his voice low enough that even Madam Pince's sharp ears couldn't hear. "You helped land my father a cell in Azkban."

Hermione looked up sharply, and Draco's steely gaze pierced her like an icy knife. Suddenly, she felt a twinge of fear. _Where is he going with this?_ "He tried to kill us, Draco," she whispered. "All we did was get away."

"Do you know what that's done to me? To my _family_? You, and the Weasel, and that _Potter_, and the others have disgraced my family name, and you've brought the Dark Lord's wrath on _me_." Hermione didn't know what to say. She had never seen Malfoy like this.

"What do you mean?" she asked tentatively. "What's he done?" Draco smirked humorlessly.

"Let's just say that he finds his servants are easily replaceable; and any servant who disappoints is easily disposed of." Hermione's eyes widened.

"You don't mean – You? He's made you a – a… _Death Eater_?"

Draco grimaced. "Remember that I told you I had high ambitions, Granger?" She nodded silently. "I will _not_ be shackled as someone's pawn. Not even _His_. And as much as it grieves me to say it, if I'm going to succeed in my ambitions, I'm going to need help. Or else, they will probably cost me my life."

"Go to Dumbledore!" Hermione blurted. "If what you say is true, he can help you. The Order of the Phoenix can offer you protection. You don't have to join Him."

Draco laughed. "Don't be stupid, Granger. Do you really think your pathetic Order is safe? The Death Eaters could crush it any time they wanted to. And in case you hadn't noticed, Dumbledore is old and weakening. Half the time he can't even make it to meals anymore. And the Dark Lord knows it. He fought him just a few months ago. He knows he's not the wizard he used to be." He leaned in closer still, the flickering lamplight dancing in his silver eyes. "There's only one person who can help me, and that's you."

Hermione's head was spinning. She didn't understand what was happening. "No, you're wrong," she said. "Dumbledore—"

"Oh, for the love of God, will you _shut up_ about Dumbledore? When was the last time you even _saw_ him?"

Hermione frowned and thought back. _Surely it hasn't been _that _long_, she reasoned, but she soon realized that it had been over a week since she last recalled seeing the headmaster, and she could count on one hand the number of times he had been present at meals since the opening feast. "But that doesn't mean he's ill. He could be off doing something secret for the Order," Hermione pointed out.

"Hmpf. Right, well he's not exactly a very great help to _me_ when he's not even present is he?"

"But… I still don't understand. Why do you want _me_ to help you?"

"I dunno," Draco answered, and he sincerely seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds. "I suppose because you're the last person anyone would suspect me to reach out to." _Well, he's got that right_.

"Alright, suppose I agreed to help you, and I'm not saying I will. What do you mean for me to do? What exactly are these 'ambitions' of yours?" The corner of Draco's mouth curled into a half-smirk, causing Hermione to inexplicably feel a little fluttery in the pit of her stomach.

"What would you say if I told you that the Dark Lord assigned a task for me to complete during the school year, a task that involves a certain weapon hidden right here in Hogwarts?"

"I'd say that would be damn near impossible. No one could smuggle a weapon into this school _now_, not with security heightened tenfold, and aurors guarding every entrance twenty-four hours a day."

"But that's the beauty of it, Granger. This weapon didn't have to be smuggled in. It's been at Hogwarts all along, for as long as anyone living can remember."

Hermione searched his face, trying to detect some hint that would give away whether or not he was telling the truth. Something didn't seem right. "I don't believe you," she said.

"Fine," Draco returned with a shrug. "I was planning to show you anyway."

Suddenly Madam Pince appeared beside their table. "Ahem. Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy," She looked from one to the other, her stern features contorted in confusion. "The library is now closed. Please return to your Houses at once."

Draco was the first to rise, but not before fixing Hermione with that same stare that had so captivated her on the night of the opening feast, that strange expression that had been so hard to discern. He was at the door, and Hermione came to a quick decision. _I just know I'm going to regret this_. "Wait!" she called. Draco froze with one foot out in the corridor and stood patiently while she caught up. "Show me this weapon."

Draco studied her for a moment, his expression uncertain, as if he thought she might be joking. "You're sure?"

"Yes!" Hermione insisted. "Just – just hurry before I come to my senses."

"As you wish, Granger," Draco said, the Malfoy smirk firmly in place. "Follow me," and he set off down the corridor, leaving Hermione to trail in his wake. They had not gone far, however, when the sound of voices suddenly stopped them in their tracks. "What's that?" said Draco, pulling out his wand and peering into the darkness.

"It's time for you to pay, Slytherin asshole," said a voice from nowhere, and then there was a small _pop_ at their feet, and the world went black.


End file.
